Helmets and Lullabies
by Mighty ANT
Summary: Darkwing Duck notices the change between him and the little hellion he was forced to care for.  Set during 'Darkly Dawns the Duck'. Drabblish Oneshot


**~Helmets and Lullabies~**

_Darkwing Duck and all of its respected characters belong to Disney. I gain absolutely nothing from writing this_

_I recently began watching these old episodes on Youtube, and it is safe to say that they have sparked my imagination. Especially all of the Darkwing/Gosalyn father-daughter fluff. _

_So please, enjoy and review :)_

* * *

For the first time in many, _many _years, Darkwing Duck was not alone in his hideout. And it unnerved him to no end.

The young duckling that had taken up temporary residence in his Tower was outrageous, unpredictable, wildly energetic, and witty. In other words, a near-carbon copy of the masked avenger.

But Darkwing Duck could have no companions—he worked alone, as his perilous line of work only accented. Spontaneous superheroes had no need for little children, for they weren't even supposed to associate with them. A hero stood above and below their people—risking their lives to keep the public safe, and traveling through thick and thin to achieve peace. They had no common place in society—they had no connections and no ties to the rest of the outside world.

But this girl had wormed her way into his life, whether he liked it or not.

In the beginning, Darkwing had done his best to brush her off with quick and to-the-point answers to her questions, however plentiful they were. Her energy unnerved him, and so, to keep up the formality, he called her nothing more than 'little girl'. The mallard knew her full name of course, but the risk behind using it was too high.

But then, she had to go and activate his breakfast exercise. In the first few seconds he'd been genuinely worried for her safety, as the child had most likely never been near or seen such a display. But to the hero's utmost surprise, the course had been completed in record time—a score that even he had yet to beat.

But then she had forgotten the milk.

It was sheer luck on Darkwing's part to move the faux kitchen table a few feet away from where he calculated the trajectory of the refrigerator would land, and it had instead crushed him instead of the girl. It was then, combined with the child's blatant worry for his _own_ safety, (as if he even _needed _a helmet…and sure, it might have saved him from a minor concussion or two back in the day…) that the duckling became known as 'kiddo', in place of the far to formal 'little girl'.

It had been that night, when the masked superhero had attempted to make the girl dinner from whatever other foods he had, that the orphan—seated at the circular table— had inquired softly, "Do you also wear a mask 'cause you have a secret identity?"

Darkwing had been at the stove, trying to create something that vaguely resembled actual food, and had frozen at the duckling's words. How she had pieced everything together so rapidly was a mystery to him—he knew that the girl was smart, but to see through him so easily…certainly wasn't normal.

Flashes of memory blurred past his subconscious—the teasing, mocking children, all the noogies, long hours of training, a child-fueled fantasy, propelled forward by the dozens of comic books he'd read under the cover of darkness, with only a flashlight to light his way under his bed sheets. And then, finally donning the mask—the very symbol of a clandestine life, of a hidden identity, one's true self buried beneath the leather, fabric, and dramatics. Hiding Drake Mallard from the rest of the world.

The superhero blinked, returning to reality, and looked back at the girl. Realizing that she was still expecting an answer, Darkwing turned back to the stove and charred item in the black frying pan. "Uh, well, y-yeah, I guess so," he admitted gradually, glancing at the child out of the corner of his eye. She yawned tiredly, raising a small wing to her mouth, and for an instant, the mallard saw the innocent child buried within her _own_ wall.

Drake Mallard smiled softly, almost fondly, before returning his attention to the stove. It was at that moment that the girl became referred to as Gosalyn—nothing more, nothing less. Just like him. And this was even _before _the lullaby.

That only sealed the deal.


End file.
